


Cheese is my fucking happy place.

by peachesatmidnight



Category: Charmie - Fandom
Genre: Cheese, Food Truck, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 20:22:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19180726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachesatmidnight/pseuds/peachesatmidnight
Summary: Armie owns a very specific type of food truck





	Cheese is my fucking happy place.

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta. Hopefully not just a one shot but will see

“Fuck!” He shouts out as he smashes his damn head on the damn roof for the 3rd time that evening.

“Uh.. I mean… if you are offering… but I just came here for the cheese…” Armie whirls around from the grill to see the smirk on the mans face. Well technically yes, he was a man. But he could also be described as a angel sent by the devil to royally fuck his life up. Okay maybe that’s a little dramatic but he knows himself. Therefore he knows he is fucked. 

“Uhh sir? You okay? Do I have something in my teeth or…” the young man asks as he grabs a tiny compact from his pocket, because of course a gorgeous specimen such as this would carry a compact. How he got it in the pocket of those oh so tight oh so soft looking leather pants. Well that’s a whole other story. 

“Ah no. You… you’re… good… umm. What will it be kid?” Armie says as he internally slaps himself. 

“Well… lets see.. so many many options up there.” The man says as he gestures to the menu board. A menu board which consists of one item. 

$1 grilled cheese. 

Armie had opened the food truck after he was fired from his job as head chef at Chez Crema. A cute not so little Italian joint owned by the overly eccentric Mr Guadagino. But to his defence. That server had it coming to him. Asking Armie to list all the ingredients of the signature dish every fucking time it was ordered. The guy knew damn well that Armie didn’t speak Italian as fluently as the rest of the staff, yet he still egged him on. That Nick fucker got what was coming to him. It just so happened to be Armies fist… 

So after being “released to spread his culinary wings” as Guadagnino so eloquently put it Armie had decided to give a big two middle fingers up to society and open his grilled cheese truck. 1 dollar per sandwich. No change given. When the fancy ass businessmen came down from their fancy ass offices with their fancy ass suits and handed him a $20 bill. Well he damn well made then 20 of the best fucking grilled cheese sandwiches he had ever made. Which wasn’t difficult because all his sandwiches were fucking amazing. It was all due to his secret special ingredient of not giving a fuck. 

Well that and the cheese he used is a special blend of Canadian White Cheddar, fresh mozzarella and a dash of Parmesan. None of this processed American bullshit. Sure it could be considered a little bit fancy but who the fuck was to blame him. He wasn’t a heathen. Cheese was his go to. It was a comfort. It was a taste of home. It was everything. And no one would take that away from him. 

He realizes the curly haired angel is still staring up at him and he shakes his head. 

“Uh yea. We have. Grilled cheese, grilled cheese and oh ya. Grilled fucking cheese.” He says his voice rougher and deeper than he meant. He doesn’t notice at all that the man in front of him shivers at the sound. Maybe he is just cold? Yea. That must be it. He’s running around in well. He looks the man up and down. Yup. Combat boots. Leather pants. Black polka dotted shirt and a blazer. In mid June. Sure the kid is cold alright… 

“Hmm. That’s a lot to take in. I think I’ll need a minute. Maybe you should just turn back around and do whatever it was you were doing. I’ll holler when I’m ready.” The young Adonis says with a smile and most certainly not a wink. Poor guy must have something in his eye. 

“Right. Okay then.” Armie mutters and turns back to clean the grill. Feeling his back muscles stretch and ease as he scrubs down the melted on cheese of the day. He always feels a sense of pride as he cleans up after a busy day. He sweeps up the small space and rolls his shoulders to loosen them before bending down to sweep the crumbs into the dust pan. He certainly doesn’t hear a sharp intake of breath as he is bent with his back and bottom towards the large open window of the truck. Whose dumb idea was it to get a normal sized food truck for a 6 and a half foot tall man, oh wait. It was his. 

He straightens himself back out and most definitely does not hear what sounds like a cross between a moan and a whine, as he reaches above his head to grab another loaf of bread. He really should get a new shirt for the truck but this is his favourite from college. It’s well worn and insanely comfortable if not a little small since he’s been going to the gym more. Lots of free time on his hands and all. But the shirt does have a tendency to ride up his back whenever he reaches too far. 

“Umm… uh…. okay… I… think I’m ready now…” the voice stutters from behind him. He puts the bread down and turns to the open window just in time to see the angel with the curls pull at the front of his pants. Poor guy, wearing leather in this heat, he must be most uncomfortable. 

“Alright. What will it be kid?” He puts on his best customer service smile as he asks. 

“Oh… umm… it’s a tough one… but I think… I’ll go with a grilled cheese.” The man smiles back at him.  
“Oh and the names Tim… not kid.”

“All right... Mr Tim... Normally I don’t offer but right now i have a hot pants.. uh I mean hot weather special… bottle of water and a grilled cheese for 2$. You look like you could use some hydration.” He mutters before turning around to grab the bottle from the small fridge under the counter. 

“Sounds wonderful.. thank you.” Tim says as he accepts the water and pulls out his wallet. Handing over the money before saying.  
“So. I guess it will be a few minutes for the sandwich.. do you need my number for the order… I mean. Give me your number… a number… fuck.” Tim smiles shyly. 

“Uh… sure… let’s see…” he looks down at the empty order list and then picks a random number.  
“Number 73.. that’s your number..”

“Right okay… good… perfect… I’ll just go.. sit over…” Tim walks backwards and promptly runs into the small bench.  
“well right here.. because this… is where the bench is..”


End file.
